


Something New

by Cptn_Rogers



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019 [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Domestic, Other, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:15:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cptn_Rogers/pseuds/Cptn_Rogers
Summary: Bucky is tired of not knowing who he was before and during Hydra’s control, so in his time in Bucharest he decides that maybe he should stop trying to be who he was and figure out who he is now and who he wants to be. Created for @buckybarnesbingo2019





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my second piece for @BuckyBarnesBingo2019! I hope you enjoy.  
> Comments are appreciated as this piece is only edited and fixed but me.  
> Also I've been posting my stuff on my tumblr give me a message on there too if you want.  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cptn-sgrogers

The market bustles around Bucky, bartering happening all around, people shouting their bargains into the open air and yet Bucky stood still, at the fruit stall, staring at the 6 string Guitar a stall over. The man catching his eye and trying to coax him over with the dulcet tones of his Romanian accent rolling off his tongue. It wasn't anything special he could see that but there was something about it that called out to him, learning something new that wasn't part of the Bucky he was before, or so he hoped. His rucksack feeling heavy, weighed down with the food he’d need and the notebooks tucked away in the bottom carrying fragments of what he could remember about who he was before and during Hydra.

Shrugging the bag strap back up onto his shoulder he moved away from the fruit stall net bag of plums in hand and through the crowd towards the man. Maybe it was time to figure out who Bucky was now instead of trying to be the Bucky he was before.

“how much?” His romanian sounding natural as he gestured toward the instrument.

“for you….550 Leu” The man replied smug look on his face knowing full well he’d just asked for $100 for a second maybe third hand guitar that had definitely seen better days.

“Are you kidding me that can’t be worth more than 82 lue and you want 550!” Clearly this man thought Bucky was an novice when it came to arguing prices. He grew up in the 40s where they bartered for everything, he could remember as much, christ he was older than this guy by at least 60 years.

“My Father made this guitar! How dare you it’s priceless. The lowest i’ll go is 275! final offer or I’m finished doing business with you!” the man spluttered indignantly.

“Alright Alright i’ll give you 275 if you throw in the Chord book and a guitar strap” knowing full well he was paying this guy 2 days of wages in one go.

“You have yourself a deal sir! Thank you!” throwing his hand out enthusiastically, Bucky grasped it gently handing over the money with the other hand.

The man attached the strap to the guitar as Bucky tucked the chord book into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder he donned the guitar, sliding it round so it lay across his back as he walked through the rest of the crowd towards home. Or as close to home as he’d been in 70 years.

 

The apartment block was the cheapest bucky could afford and the easiest to defend with a few strategically placed items. He knew that people would be looking for him after what happened in Washington and after all the training he’d gone through to become a Winter Soldier his need to secure wherever he was just wouldn’t leave him, try as he might to lessen it, he tried to look at it as though it was things he’d learned before when he was with the Howling Commandos but he knew deep down that they were never this cautious.

Grabbing his keys from his pocket he jiggled them into the lock balancing everything precariously, the guitar slipped off of his shoulder slightly and knocking against the wall, letting out a less than melodious thunk and the strings ringing out as he squeezed through the door, give him an AK-47 or a sniper rifle strapped across his back and he’d know how to work with it and stop it from hindering his movements but a guitar that was something else entirely. On any other day he would be grateful for the narrow hallway leading into the apartment but with his backpack full and a guitar strapped across his back it was a struggle, inwardly cursing himself slightly for buying into the impulse of getting it in the first place.

finally he managed to squeeze himself into the main apartment, walking over to the corner of the room and taking off the guitar, balancing it on a chair in the corner of the room. The chair wasn’t the best place for it Bucky realised as the guitar began to slide sideways off of it, in his rush to catch it he dropped his net bag of plums, scattering the contents across the floor. His metal hand causing a screech of a sound as it came into contact with the strings on the neck of the guitar. gently he lowered it to the floor, propping it between the wall and the chair, on the floor this time.

Muttering to himself as he began to gather the now bruised fruit off the kitchen floor, if you could call it that, Bucky’s apartment was a glorified bed sit but it did him well. Times had changed a lot since the 40s or what he could remember of them anyway so he kept it simple, no TV, no Landline, just a radio in the corner and the bare essentials, it felt a little like home.

Turning the stove on he began making Creamed chipped beef, granted there were plenty of different foods and a plethora of choices in the 21st but when on a budget for some reason or another the meals Bucky used to have in the 30s and 40s were still the cheapest. It also reminded him of his mom’s cooking, where he and becca would moan about having creamed chipped beef again, which was bitter sweet really, it was also a staple for Bucky with the Howling Commandos. Only having fragments of his memory frustrated Bucky, or the part of him that was pre-Winter Soldier Bucky, the other part didn’t want to remember, it made it all to painful. For 70 years he had been trained to take in information and then get rid of it once it was deemed un-useful or he was onto the next mission or when they decided to wipe his memory. However, the one thing they could never erase was the memory of the people he had killed, he remembered every one, every face, every name and worst of all the way he’d ended their lives too. Bucky knew that it was the only bit of defiance he had against them, the only thing they couldn’t take away from him, he knew it wasn’t right to forget about them, so he didn’t, it was the same part of him that couldn’t kill Captain America, the same part that dragged him from the lake, that same defiant part of him that had stopped the Winter Soldier. 

An acrid smell filled the air drawing Bucky out of his dase and subsequent spiral. 

“A fuck, only thing worse than chipped beef is burnt chipped beef” Bucky’s face crumpled as he remembered what he and becca used to say to each other whenever he burnt it, which was often, much to his mothers horror. 

Taking the pot off of the hob he quickly went to his backpack pulling out his James ‘Buchanan’ Barnes Notebook, he hastily noted down the phrase and dated it to pre-war and that it was his and becca’s phrase. He had a few James ‘Buchanan’ Barnes notebooks and a few Winter Soldier ones too all full and tucked away. He never took them out of his bag for fear of losing them, for fear of losing himself again. It took up space in his grab bag but it was more important than anything else he owned. He glanced at the guitar in the corner of the room as he plated up the burnt food, maybe he could learn something more about himself that way, he knew deep down that neither James ‘Buchanan’ Barnes nor the Winter Soldier had ever played guitar it was utterly foreign to him and that’s what had grabbed his attention about it in the market.

Forgetting the food on the plate Bucky grabbed the guitar, the chord book and his bag of plums. Heading out of the apartment he didn’t look back as he gently closed the door behind him heading up to the roof. Not stopping to lock it incase he changed his mind.

As he stepped out onto the roof the cool late evening air hit him. stopping only briefly to prop the door open with a brick at the side of the door, he walked out into the open air, finding a semi decent spot that looked out over Bucharest, the sky beginning to turn a gentle shades of pink and orange, he sat crossed legged and opened the chord book, placing the strap over his head and made the shape of the chord with his left hand on the strings. Still plenty of light for the moment. After a minute or two Bucky realised that playing with his right hand wasn't working as his metal arm definitely was not made for string work it seemed, flipping the guitar over he realised that if he played it left handed the guitar gave out a much nicer sound.

“I’ll never need a plectrum..” he mused to himself, picking a relatively bruise free plum from his bag he began flicking through the pages, looking out across the city he called home, for now, till he found a simple song with tab music, finding that easier to follow than sheet music at his early stages of guitar mastery as the sun continued its slow descent to the horizon. 

So he sat and slowly strummed out the tune looking out over the city as the sun vanished and the city began to light up in the darkness, the gentle melody being carried on the wind through the busy streets below.


End file.
